


The games we play

by yssanne



Series: I have this gun. Sometimes I think about using it. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, dark(er)!Sam, jealous!Sam, manipulative!Sam, mention of Dean/other(s) only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:17:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yssanne/pseuds/yssanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippet(s) from the familiar Winchesters' life with not so familiar Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The games we play

He’s out again. In some shithole of a bar, only thing available in this shithole of a town. There aren’t many worse places we’ve been to so that says enough. Not that he’s looking for something better – cheap beer, cheap whiskey, cheap women, that’s his thing (not that he’s ever had to pay for one, he just likes ‘em that way).

Gotta admit, the first few times he invited me to go with him, but I said no every time so he just stopped with time. I couldn’t possibly say it makes me ill just seeing how they bloom the moment he enters the bar, and how knowing they’re wet for him after the first smile makes me want to see how wet their bodies can really become. It’d be awkward if that serial killers story started making rounds once more, we barely got rid of that one the last time and it wasn’t even true then.

Lately he’s on edge when he comes back, even though he should be more relaxed – it can’t be that bad, not with him as the other partner in bed, he’d make anyone good. So I let him be. I know my Dean. Soon he’ll think about it, find it strange I haven’t yet bugged him about what was going one, and then tell me himself. He needs to tell me stuff even if he’s not aware of that, he walks straighter after that.

While he’s out I’ve got to prepare myself for what’s to come – him snapping on me, trying to make a fight out of nothing, but at the same time spending more time then ever around me, even when he doesn’t have to. The fact that I try to touch him as much as possible in that time has nothing and everything to do with him. Everything because his well being is always in the first place for me and nothing because nothing gives me so much pleasure as knowing only my touch can ground him. It’s grating on my nerves, all this back and forth dance, but it’s got to be done. That’s my Dean, called many different things, but never flawless, and rightly so.

Day one. Before noon he tried to start a fight three times – where will we go for breakfast, which lead to check out first and where the hell did I put his Led Zeppelin IV tape. Keep breathing, Sam. It’s temporary. Don’t shake him, touch him while you’re introducing yourself to the family of the victim. Sit close to him, let your leg warm his and focus on listening to the widow instead of gouging her cheating eyes out, her husband’s not even dead yet and she’s already throwing bedroom looks Dean’s way. Later massage his hangover headache away until he finally stops complaining and falls asleep.

Day two. Tape recovered, no apology. Case in a dead end for now. I’m the grumpy one today since last night I had another one of those fire nightmares, only this soon switched to something worse – Dean saying I scare him too much, that he’d found a girl he could see himself retiring. Not telling him about that though. Spending the afternoon napping on his bed while he’s watching tv, half curled up against him. He doesn’t protest since I told about fire part. Easier like this. Won’t allow him to leave me anyway, so no need to mention that. If it comes to it, I’ll tell him one day, but hopefully he’ll spare me that.

Day three. We’re supposed to go hunting tomorrow, some big fuck we haven’t met before, but chopping it usually does the trick. Dean went out once more, but is unexpectedly back in less than an hour. This is something new. I look up from my laptop and suddenly he’s on the floor next to me, just holding my hands. He looks at me, all confusion and longing and apprehension, and I can’t help but kiss him. In a flash I have him under me, moaning and undulating and perfect. Sex is far from perfect, but I count on this not being the last time, not when I’ve finally got my chance.

Day four. So that’s how he’s gonna play it. Nothing happened, eh? Okay, Dean, fine. we’ll see how long will you be able to keep that going. I think you’re forgetting I’m not some chick you’ll never see again, I’m your Sam, who’s been with you ever since I can remember and I know you. You can’t run from me, Dean, not from me.


End file.
